


A Very Modern Mistake

by DwarfessIsla



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarfessIsla/pseuds/DwarfessIsla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire. His name and political opinions were the only things Enjolras knew about him. Really, though, what more did he need to know about a person? Especially one with such obviously wrong arguments?</p>
<p>(A lot. Nothing. Everything.)</p>
<p>And in the 21st century, what did people do to find out about others? They stalked them on social media.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Modern Mistake

They met a mutual friend's party. Combeferre’s - or was it Courfeyrac's? Everything those two did had been muddled together ever since they started dating. Enjolras was too drunk to remember even if he had known beforehand, lying in his bed at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling and thinking. He supposed that, being as drunk as he was, he should probably be more tired, but Grantaire was keeping him awake. Grantaire, with his wildly gesticulating hands and eyes which brightened with every bottle he drank; Grantaire, with his bouncing curls and scruffy stubble; Grantaire, whom he had spent most of the evening talking to. (Discussing current events with.) (Animatedly debating with.) (Arguing with.)

Grantaire. His name and political opinions were the only things Enjolras knew about him. Really, though, what more did he need to know about a person? Especially one with such obviously wrong arguments?

(A lot. Nothing. Everything.)

And in the 21st century, what did people do to find out about others? They stalked them on social media.

Enjolras, being the revolutionary that he was, had an account on pretty much every social media known to man. Surely Grantaire was on one of them.

He fumbled on his bedside table for his phone, knocked over a glass of water, told it to be quiet when it smashed, realised it was an inanimate object, moved to smack himself on the forehead, missed, and hit the wall behind him. His hand stinging, he groped around in the dark for a bit and located his device. When the screen turned on, he winced as a fresh stab of pain burst through his head in reaction to the bright light. He turned the brightness down to lowest and started his search.

The first website Enjolras found Grantaire on was Facebook. Classic. The only problem was, his profile was private, so until he accepted Enjolras' friend request, all that could be seen was a history of profile pictures. Grantaire's current one was of him standing on a hill, looking up at the sky. It looked artsy until Enjolras hazily realised that both of Grantaire's hands were raised, middle fingers up. Flicking off the sky; very poetic. Despite himself, he giggled. Then giggled again, because he must be really drunk to be giggling.

The second place he found him was Twitter, where his icon was a picture of the Queen on the toilet. A political statement, maybe? 'Remember, guys, she's human just like the rest of us'? Or just something which made him laugh, because it showed a royal buttock? Scrolling through @grantairethefarter's account, which was mainly just retweets of obscene jokes as well as a few drunken 'fml' rants, it seemed more likely to be the latter.

(Enjolras would be lying if he denied that in his intoxicated state, he'd teared up at a few of those tweets. He wasn't used to so much self hate in one place.)

The third place was Instagram. Enjolras whistled - he wasn't sure how, as he couldn't actually whistle - when he saw a post number of over 700 at the top. Either the dude had had Instagram for a while, or he was hardcore. Either way, his feed was public, so it was practically inviting him to scroll through it. There were dozens of selfies - never alone, always with friends and pulling weird faces - and quite a few mugshots, including a couple of Courfeyrac. (It had probably been his party then.) 70 photos in, Enjolras could put names to faces of most of these people, who he’d never met before, without looking at the captions. He felt like he’d made some new friends. (How many bottles of beer had he drunk earlier? Was it seven, or eight?) There were also some sketches and wips, as well as a couple of pieces of scenic photography. He really was a very good artist. And, of course, screenshots of Tumblr and Twitter posts which had made him laugh. Enjolras even found himself giggling at a few.

He spent much longer on Grantaire’s Instagram feed than his Facebook or Twitter. It seemed like more of his soul had been poured into this account, and the more Enjolras found out, the more he liked. He like his weird sense of humour and intricate but harmless pranks which he uploaded clips of. He liked his attention to detail in his art and the variety of his work. He liked the way he smiled with his friends and the way his eyes crinkled when he looked truly relaxed. He wanted to know more, to keep finding things he liked, so he kept on scrolling.

At a photo posted 56 weeks ago, Enjolras found himself yawning. At 94 weeks ago, his eyes were drooping. At 158 weeks ago, he was snoring, fast asleep.

 

He was awoken by a buzzing underneath his arm. Rude. How dare something wake him up when his head hurt so much? He was lying on something hard and he wriggled around, trying to fish it out. His eyes focused to see his phone poking out from beneath him. The screen told him it was 11:34am, and that he had a new message. He blinked, confused. (Blinking hurt.) How had it got there?

He tried to sit up, failed, and fell back down again. The sunlight streaming through his windows was being very unhelpful when it came to helping him rest. He needed tea, he mused.

His head drooped to one side and he was asleep again.

 

Enjolras woke up again a few hours later (a quick glance at his alarm clock told him 13:03), this time feeling much more awake and much grumpier than before. He hated waking up late, and he hated being hungover. He forced himself out of bed and into the kitchen, where he put on the kettle and took some paracetamol. (Blinking still hurt, though less than before).

Mug of chamomile tea in hand, he headed back to his bedroom. It was impractical for him to try and catch up on his assignments in this state, but the book by his bed seemed like a safe bet, and it wouldn't hurt to check his phone while he was at it.

The lock screen read: _One new message from Grantaire Amis._

Enjolras frowned. Who was that? He unlocked his phone and saw that the name was attached to a profile picture - and of course, Grantaire was the man he had virtually stalked after meeting and arguing with last night.

Wait, what?

The message read **_dude, u stalking me? u liked at least ten of my insta pix last night, and they werent exactly recent_**

Enjolras felt a cold slither of dread as he opened up his Instagram app, still stuck in the middle of Grantaire's feed on a photo from 158 weeks ago. Knowing what was coming, he checked the heart at the bottom. It was red.

Well, crap. He quickly unliked it, but it was too late. He was too far down to go back and unlike all the photos he'd double tapped, especially now that Grantire would be able to see that he'd read his message. There was only one thing for it.

**_Sorry about that!_** he typed back. **_Hope the notifications didn't disturb you. I was drunk and didn't really know what I was doing, it's happened a couple of times before._** (That was a lie.)

He rubbed his face, which was growing red. How, oh how, had he fallen into this trap, he who was usually so careful? It was as classic a mistake as any mistake could be in this modern world. If any of his friends found out...

His phone dinged with a new message. He looked down at it.

**_haha, its okay, we've all been there, u dont need to make excuses ;)_ **

**_altho, it does take some dedication to scroll back to photos from three years back.. wanna go out for coffee sometime?_ **

If his face had been red before, it was in flames by now. Coffee with Grantaire? Was there any way that wouldn't end in an argument?

Not that that would be the worst thing, he found himself thinking. He remembered how enthusiastic Grantaire had been while putting across his points in their arguments, the way the muscles in his arm had moved as he reached for his glass, the way his lips had quirked up at the corner when he thought he was winning. And then there was the side of him he’d seen last night; the silly selfies with so many friends (which he somehow still managed to look good in, no matter how weird the face) and the self depreciating tweets. Maybe getting to know him wouldn't be so bad.

**_Coffee sounds great_** , he replied.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out even shorter than I thought it would.. for now I'll leave it as the messy drabble it is but I might add to it later :)
> 
> (sorry for the writing; if it's any excuse this was written at midnight on my phone!)
> 
> I'm theepictoendall on Tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
